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Once Gone
Chapter 11
It was very dark by the time Riley got back home into Fredericksburg and, if anything, she felt her night was almost sure to get worse. She felt a spasm of déjà vu as she pulled her car in front of the large house in a respectable suburban neighborhood. She’d once shared this house with Ryan and their daughter. There were a lot of memories here, many of them good. But more than a few of them were not so good, and some were really awful.
Just as she was about to get out of the car and walk up to the house, the front door opened. April came out and Ryan stood silhouetted in the bright light of the doorway. He gave Riley a token wave as April walked away, then he stepped back into the house and closed the door.
It seemed to Riley that he shut the door quite firmly, but she knew that was probably her own mind at work. That door had closed for good some time ago, and that life was gone. But the truth was, she had never really belonged in such a bland, safe, respectable world of order and routine. Her heart was always in the field, where chaos, unpredictability, and danger reigned.
April reached the car and got into the passenger seat.
“You’re late,” April snapped, crossing her arms.
“Sorry,” Riley said. She wanted to say more, to tell April how deeply sorry she really was, not just for this night, not just for her father, but for her whole life. Riley so badly wanted to be a better mother, to be home, to be there for April. But her work life would just not let her go.
Riley pulled away from the curb.
“Normal parents don’t work all day and all night too,” April said.
Riley sighed.
“I’ve said before that – ” she began.
“I know,” April interrupted. “Criminals don’t take days off. That’s pretty lame, Mom.”
Riley drove on in silence for a few moments, wanting to talk to April, but just too tired, too overwhelmed by her day. She didn’t even know what to say anymore.
“How did things go with your father?” she finally asked.
“Lousy,” April replied.
It was a predictable reply. April seemed to be even more down on her father than she was on her mother these days.
Another long silence fell between them.
Then, in a softer tone, April added, “At least Gabriela’s there. It’s always nice to see a friendly face for a change.”
Riley smiled ever so slightly. Riley really did appreciate Gabriela, the middle-aged Guatemalan woman who had worked as their housemaid for years. Gabriela was always wonderfully responsible and grounded, which was more than Riley could say about Ryan. She was glad that Gabriela was still in their lives – and still there to look after April whenever she stayed at her father’s house.
During the drive home, Riley felt a palpable need to communicate with her daughter. But what could she say to break through to her? It wasn’t as if she didn’t understand how April felt – especially on a night like tonight. The poor girl simply had to feel unwanted, getting shuttled back and forth between her parents’ homes. That had to be hard on a fourteen-year-old who was already angry about so many things in her life. Fortunately, April agreed to go to her father’s house after her class each day until Riley picked her up. But today, the very first day of the new arrangement, Riley had been so very late.
Riley found herself close to tears as she drove. She couldn’t think of anything to say. She was simply too exhausted. She was always too exhausted.
When they got home, April stalked wordlessly off to her room and shut the door noisily behind her. Riley stood in the hallway for a moment. Then she knocked on April’s door.
“Come on out, sweetie,” she said. “Let’s talk. Let’s sit down in the kitchen for a little bit, have a cup of peppermint tea. Or maybe in the backyard. It’s a pretty night out. It’s a shame to waste it.”
She heard April’s voice reply, “You go ahead and do that, Mom. I’m busy.”
Riley leaned wearily against the doorframe.
“You keep saying I don’t spend enough time with you,” Riley said.
“It’s past midnight, Mom. It’s really late.”
Riley felt her throat tighten and tears well up in her eyes. But she wasn’t going to let herself cry.
“I’m trying, April,” she said. “I’m doing my best – with everything.”
A silence fell.
“I know,” April finally said from inside her room.
Then all was quiet. Riley wished she could see her daughter’s face. Was it possible that she heard just a trace of sympathy in those two words? No, probably not. Was it anger, then? Riley didn’t think so. It was probably just detachment.
Riley went to the bathroom and took a long hot shower. She let the steam and the pounding hot droplets massage her body, which ached all over after such a long and difficult day. By the time she got out and dried her hair she felt better physically. But inside she still felt empty and troubled.
And she knew that she wasn’t ready to sleep.
She put on slippers and a bathrobe and went to the kitchen. When she opened a cabinet the first thing she saw was a mostly-full bottle of bourbon. She thought about pouring herself a straight double shot of whiskey.
Not a good idea, she told herself firmly.
In her current frame of mind, she wouldn’t stop with one. Through all her troubles of the last six weeks, she’d managed not to let alcohol get the best of her. This was no time to lose control. She fixed herself a cup of hot mint tea instead.
Then Riley sat down in the living room and began to pore over the folder full of photographs and information about the three murder cases.
She already knew quite a bit about the victim of six months ago near Daggett – the one they now knew to be the second of three murders. Eileen Rogers had been a married mother with two children who owned and managed a restaurant with her husband. And of course, Riley had also seen the site where the third victim, Reba Frye, had been left. She’d even visited Frye’s family, including the self-absorbed Senator.
But the two-year-old Belding case was new to her. As she read the reports, Margaret Geraty began to come into focus as a real human being, a woman who had once lived and breathed. She’d worked in Belding as a CPA, and had recently moved to Virginia from upstate New York. Her surviving family aside from her husband included two sisters, a brother, and a widowed mother. Friends and relatives described her as good-natured but rather solitary – possibly even lonely.
Sipping on her tea, Riley couldn’t help but wonder – what would have become of Margaret Geraty if she had lived? At thirty-six, life still held all kinds of possibilities – children, and so much else.
Riley felt a chill as another thought dawned on her. Just six weeks ago, her own life story had come fearfully close to ending up in a folder just like the one now open in front of her. Her whole existence might well have been reduced to a stack of horrible photos and official prose.
She closed her eyes, trying to shake it away as she sensed the memories come flooding back. But try as she did, she could not stop them.
As she crept through the dark house, she heard a scratching below the floorboards, then a cry for help. After probing the walls, she found it – a small, square door that opened into a crawlspace under the house. She shined a flashlight inside.
The beam fell upon a terrified face.
“I’m here to help,” Riley said.
“You’ve come!” the victim cried. “Oh, thank God you’ve come!”
Riley scuttled across the dirt floor toward the little cage in the corner. She fumbled with the lock for a moment. Then she pulled out her pocketknife and pried at the lock until she forced it open. A second later, the woman was crawling out of the cage.
Riley and the woman headed for the square opening. But the woman was scarcely out before a threatening male figure blocked Riley’s way.
She was trapped, but the other woman had a chance.
“Run!” Riley screamed. “Run!”
Riley yanked herself back to the present. Would she ever be free from those horrors? Certainly, working on a new case involving torture and death wasn’t making it easier for her.
Even so, there was one person she could always turn to for support.
She got out her phone and texted Marie.
Hey. You still awake?
After a few seconds, the reply came.
Yes. How are U?
Riley typed: Pretty shaky. And you?
Too scared to sleep.
Riley wanted to type something to make both of them feel better. Somehow, just texting like this didn’t seem to be enough.
Do U want to talk? she typed. I mean TALK – not just text?
It took several long seconds before Marie replied.
No, I don’t think so.
Riley was surprised for a moment. Then she realized that her voice might not always be comforting for Marie. Sometimes it might even trigger awful flashbacks for her.
Riley remembered Marie’s words the last time they had spoken. Find that son of a bitch. And kill him for me. And as she pondered them, Riley did have news that she thought Marie might want to hear.
I’m back on the job, Riley typed.
Marie’s words poured out in a rush of typed phrases.
Oh good! So glad! I know it’s not easy. I’m proud. U r very brave.
Riley sighed. She didn’t feel so brave – not just at this moment, anyway.
Marie’s words continued.
Thank U. Knowing you’re working again makes me feel much better. Maybe I can sleep now. Goodnight.
Riley typed: Hang in there.
Then she put her phone down. She felt a bit better, too. After all, she’d accomplished something, getting back to work like this. Slowly but surely, she really was starting to heal.
Riley drank the rest of her tea, then went straight to bed. She let her exhaustion overtake her and fell asleep quickly.
Riley was six years old, in a candy store with Mommy. She was so happy about all the candy Mommy was buying for her.
But then a man walked toward them. A big, scary man. He wore something over his face – a nylon stocking, just like Mommy wore on her legs. He pulled a gun. He yelled at Mommy to give him her purse. But Mommy was so scared that she couldn’t move. She couldn’t give it to him.
And so he shot her in the chest.
She fell to the floor bleeding. The man snatched up the purse and ran.
Riley started screaming and screaming and screaming.
Then she heard Mommy’s voice.
“There’s nothing you can do, dear. I’m gone and you can’t help it.”
Riley was still in the candy store but she was all grown up now. Mommy was right in front of her, standing over her own corpse.
“I’ve got to bring you back!” Riley cried.
Mommy was smiling sadly at Riley.
“You can’t,” Mommy said. “You can’t bring back the dead.”
Riley sat up, breathing hard, startled from her sleep by a rattling noise. She looked all around, on edge. The house was silent now.
But she’d heard something, she was sure. Like a noise at the front door.
Riley jumped to her feet, her instincts kicking in. She got a flashlight and her gun out of the dresser and moved carefully through the house toward the front door.
She peered through the small glass pane in the door, but saw nothing. All was silent.
Riley braced herself and quickly opened the door wide, shining the light outside. No one. Nothing.
As she moved the light around something on the front stoop caught her attention. A few pebbles were scattered there. Had somebody tossed them at the door, causing that rattling?
Riley wracked her brain, trying to remember if those pebbles had been there when she’d gotten home last night. In her haze, she simply couldn’t be sure one way or the other.
Riley stood there for a few moments, but there was no sign of anybody anywhere.
She closed and locked the front door and headed back down the short hallway to her bedroom. As she reached the end, she was startled to see that April’s bedroom door was slightly open.
Riley pulled the door open wide and looked inside.
Her heart pounded with terror.
April was gone.
Chapter 12
“April!” Riley screamed. “April!”
Riley ran to the bathroom and looked inside. Her daughter wasn’t there either.
She ran desperately through the house, opening doors, looking into every room and every closet. She found nothing.
“April!” she screamed again.
Riley recognized the bitter flavor of bile in her mouth. It was the taste of terror.
At last, in the kitchen, she noticed an odd smell wafting in through an open window. She recognized that smell from long-ago college days. Her terror ebbed away, replaced by sad annoyance.
“Oh, Jesus,” Riley murmured aloud, feeling immense relief.
She jerked the back door open. In the early morning light she could see her daughter, still in her pajamas, sitting at the old picnic table. April looked guilty and sheepish.
“What do you want, Mom?” April asked.
Riley strode across the yard, holding out her hand.
“Give it to me,” Riley said.
April awkwardly tried to display an innocent expression.
“Give you what?” she asked.
Riley’s voice choked back more sadness than anger. “The joint you’re smoking,” she said. “And please – don’t lie to me about it.”
“You’re crazy,” April said, doing her best to sound righteously indignant. “I wasn’t smoking anything. You’re always assuming the worst about me. You know that, Mom?”
Riley noticed how her daughter was hunched forward as she sat on the bench.
“Move your foot,” Riley said.
“What?” April said, feigning incomprehension.
Riley pointed at the suspicious foot.
“Move your foot.”
April groaned aloud and obeyed. Sure enough, her bedroom slipper had been covering a freshly crushed marijuana joint. A wisp of smoke rose from it, and the smell was stronger than ever.
Riley bent down and snatched it up.
“Now give me the rest of it.”
April shrugged. “The rest of what?”
Riley couldn’t quite keep her voice steady. “April, I mean it. Don’t lie to me. Please.”
April rolled her eyes and reached into her shirt pocket. She pulled out a joint that hadn’t been lit.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, here,” she said, handing it to her mother. “Don’t try to tell me you’re not going to smoke it yourself as soon as you get a chance.”
Riley shoved both joints into her bathrobe pocket.
“What else have you got?” she demanded.
“That’s it, that’s all there is,” April snapped back. “Don’t you believe me? Well, go ahead, search me. Search my room. Search everywhere. This is all I’ve got.”
Riley was trembling all over. She struggled to bring her emotions under control.
“Where did you get these?” she asked.
April shrugged. “Cindy gave them to me.”
“Who’s Cindy?
April let out a cynical laugh. “Well, you wouldn’t know, would you, Mom? It’s not like you know much of anything about my life. What do you care, anyway? I mean, does it make any difference to you if I get high?”
Riley was stung now. April had gone right for the jugular, and it hurt. Riley couldn’t hold back the tears anymore.
“April, why do you hate me?” she cried.
April looked surprised, but hardly repentant. “I don’t hate you, Mom.”
“Then why are you punishing me? What did I ever do to deserve this?”
April stared off into space. “Maybe you ought to spend some time thinking about that, Mom.”
April got up from the bench and walked toward the house.
Riley wandered through the kitchen, mechanically getting out everything she needed to make breakfast. As she took the eggs and bacon out of the refrigerator, she wondered what to do about this situation. She ought to ground April immediately. But how exactly could she do that?
When Riley had been off the job, she’d been able to keep tabs on April. But everything was different now. Now that Riley was back at work, her schedule would be wildly unpredictable. And apparently, so would her daughter.
Riley mulled over her choices as she laid strips of bacon in the pan to sizzle. One thing seemed certain. Since April would be spending so much time with her father, Riley really ought to tell Ryan what had happened. But that would open up another world of problems. Ryan was already convinced that Riley was domestically incompetent, both as a wife and mother. If Riley told him that she’d caught April smoking pot in the backyard, he’d feel absolutely sure of it.
And maybe he’d be right, she thought miserably as she pushed two slices of bread down into the toaster.
So far, Ryan and Riley had managed to avoid a custody battle over April. She knew that although he’d never admit it, Ryan was enjoying his freedom as a bachelor too much to want to be bothered with raising a teenager. He hadn’t been thrilled when Riley told him that April would be spending more time with him.
But she also knew that her ex-husband’s attitude could change very fast, especially if he had an excuse to blame her for something. If he found out that April had been smoking pot, he might try to take her away from Riley altogether. That thought was unbearable.
A few minutes later, Riley and her daughter were sitting at the breakfast table eating. The silence between them was even more awkward than usual.
Finally April asked, “Are you going to tell Dad?”
“Do you think maybe I should?” Riley replied.
It seemed like an honest enough reply under the circumstances.
April hung her head, looking worried.
Then April pleaded, “Please don’t tell Gabriela.”
The words struck Riley straight to the heart. April was more worried about their housemaid finding out than she was about what her father might think – or her own mother, for that matter.
So things have gotten this bad, Riley thought miserably.
What precious little that was left of her family life was disintegrating right before her eyes. She felt as if she were barely a mother at all anymore. She wondered if Ryan had any such feelings about being a father.
Probably not. Feeling guilty wasn’t Ryan’s style. She sometimes envied him his emotional indifference.
After breakfast, as April got ready for school, the house fell silent, and Riley began to obsess about the other thing that had happened that morning – if it had happened. What or who had caused that rattling at the front door? Had there been a rattling at the front door? Where had those pebbles suddenly come from?
She recalled Marie’s panic over strange phone calls, and an obsessive fear was growing inside her, getting out of control. She got out her cell phone and called a familiar number.
“Betty Richter, FBI Forensics Tech,” came the curt reply.
“Betty, this is Riley Paige.” Riley swallowed hard. “I think you know why I’m calling.”
After all, Riley had been making this exact same phone call every two or three days for the last six weeks now. Agent Richter had been in charge of closing up the details on the Peterson case, and Riley desperately wanted resolution.
“You want me to tell you that Peterson’s really dead,” Betty said in a sympathetic tone. Betty was the very soul of patience, understanding, and good humor, and Riley had always been grateful to have her to talk to about this.
“I know it’s ridiculous.”
“After all you went through?” Betty said. “No, I don’t think so. But I don’t have anything new to tell you. Just the same old thing. We found Peterson’s body. Sure, it was burned to a cinder, but it was exactly his height and build. There’s really nobody else it could have been.”
“How sure are you? Give me a percentage.”
“I’d say ninety-nine percent,” she said.
Riley took a long, slow breath.
“You can’t make that a hundred?” she asked.
Betty sighed. “Riley, I can’t give you a hundred percent certainty about much of anything in life. Nobody can. Nobody’s a hundred percent sure the sun is going to rise tomorrow morning. Earth might get smacked by a giant asteroid in the meantime, and we’ll all be dead.”
Riley emitted a rueful chuckle.
“Thanks for giving me something else to worry about,” she said.
Betty laughed a little too. “Any time,” she said. “Glad to be of help.”
“Mom?” April called out, ready to go to school.
Riley ended the phone call, feeling a bit better, and prepared to go. After drop-off, she had agreed to pick up Bill today. They had a suspect to interview that fit all the demographics.
And Riley had a feeling he just might be the savage killer they were looking for.
Chapter 13
Riley turned off the engine and sat before Bill’s house, admiring his pleasant two-story bungalow. She’d always wondered how he managed to keep that front lawn such a healthy green and those ornamental shrubs so immaculately trimmed. Bill’s domestic life might be in turmoil, but he sure did keep a nice yard, a perfect fit for this picturesque residential neighborhood. She couldn’t help wondering what all the backyards looked like in this little community so close to Quantico.
Bill came out, his wife, Maggie, appearing behind him and giving Riley a ferocious glare. Riley looked away.
Bill got in and slammed the door behind him.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he growled.
Riley started the car and pulled away from the curb.
“I take it all is not well at home,” she said.
Bill shook his head.
“We had a big fight when I got home so late last night. It all started up again this morning.”
He was silent for a moment, then added grimly, “She’s talking about divorce again. And she wants full custody of the boys.”
Riley hesitated, but then she went ahead and asked the question that was on her mind, “And I’m part of the problem?”
Bill was silent.
“Yeah,” he finally admitted. “She wasn’t happy to hear that we’re working together again. She says you’re a bad influence.”
Riley didn’t know what to say.
Bill added, “She says I’m at my worst when I’m working with you. I’m more distracted, more obsessed with my job.”
True enough, Riley thought. She and Bill were both obsessed with their jobs.
Silence fell again as they drove. After a few minutes, Bill opened up his laptop.
“I’ve got some details about the guy we’re going to talk to. Ross Blackwell.”
He scanned the screen.
“A registered sex offender,” he added.
Riley’s lip curled in disgust.
“What charges?”
“Possession of child pornography. He was suspected of more but nothing was ever proved. He’s in the database but no restrictions on his activity. It was ten years back, and this photo is pretty old.”
Sneaky, she thought. Maybe hard to trap.
Bill continued reading.
“Fired from several jobs, for vague reasons. The last time he was working in a chain store in a big mall in the Beltway – really mainstream commercial stuff, and its market is mostly families with kids. When they caught Blackwell posing dolls in kinky positions, they fired and reported him.”
“A man with a quirk about dolls and a record of child pornography,” Riley muttered.
So far, Ross Blackwell fit the profile that she was starting to put together.
“And now?” she asked.
“He’s got a job in a hobby and model shop,” Bill replied. “Another chain store in another mall.”
Riley was a bit surprised.
“Didn’t the managers know about Blackwell’s record when they hired him?”
Bill shrugged.
“Maybe they don’t care. His interests seem to be entirely heterosexual. Maybe they don’t figure he’ll do much harm in a place that’s all about model cars and airplanes and trains.”
She felt a chill run through her body. Why would a guy like that even be able to get another job? This man seemed likely to be a vicious killer. Why would he be let out every day to cruise around among those who were vulnerable?
They finally made their way through the relentless traffic to Sanfield. The D.C. suburb struck Riley as a typical example of an “edge city,” largely made up of malls and corporate headquarters. She found it to be soulless, plastic, and depressing.
She parked outside the huge shopping mall. For a moment, she just sat in the driver’s seat and stared at the old photograph of Blackwell on Bill’s laptop. There was nothing distinctive about his face, just a white guy with dark hair and an insolent expression. Now he would be in his fifties.
She and Bill got out of the car and made their way on foot through the consumers’ utopia, until they saw the scale model store.
“I don’t want to let him get away,” Riley said. “What if he spots us and bolts?”
“We should be able to corner him inside,” Bill replied. “Immobilize him and get the customers out.”
Riley put one hand on her gun.
Not yet, she told herself. Don’t cause a panic if we don’t have to.
She stood there for a moment, watching the store’s customers coming and going. Was one of those guys Blackwell? Was he already escaping them?
Riley and Bill walked in through the door of the model shop. Most of the space was taken up by a sprawling and detailed reproduction of a small town, complete with a running train and flashing traffic lights. Model airplanes hung from the ceiling. There wasn’t a doll in sight.
Several men seemed to be working in the store, but none of them fit the image she held in her mind.
“I can’t spot him,” Riley said.
At the front desk Bill asked, “Do you have a certain Ross Blackwell working here?”
The man at the cash register nodded and pointed toward a rack with scale modeling kits. A short, pudgy man with graying hair was sorting the merchandise. His back was to them.
Riley touched her gun again, but left it in the holster. She and Bill spread out so they could block any escape attempt Blackwell might make.
Her heart beat faster as she approached.
“Ross Blackwell?” Riley asked.
The man turned around. He wore thick glasses and his belly protruded over his belt. Riley was especially struck by the dull, anemic pallor of his skin. She thought that he didn’t seem likely to run, but her judgment of “creep” fit him just fine.
“It depends,” Blackwell replied with a wide smile. “What’s your business?”
Riley and Bill both showed him their badges.
“Wow, the Feds, huh?” Blackwell said, sounding almost pleased. “This is new. I’m used to dealing with the local authorities. You’re not here to arrest me, I hope. Because I really thought all those weird misunderstandings were a thing of the past.”
“We’d just like to ask you a few questions,” Bill said.
Blackwell smirked a little and tilted his head inquiringly.
“A few questions, huh? Well, I know the Bill of Rights pretty much by heart. I don’t have to talk to you if I don’t want to. But hey, why not? It might even be fun. If you’ll buy me a cup of coffee, I’ll go along with it.”
Blackwell walked toward the front desk, and Riley and Bill followed close behind him. Riley was alert for any attempt at evading them.
“I’m taking a coffee break, Bernie,” Blackwell called out to the cashier.
Riley could tell by Bill’s expression that he was wondering if they’d gotten the right guy. She understood why he might feel that way. Blackwell didn’t seem the least bit upset to see them. In fact, he seemed to be rather pleased.
But as far as Riley was concerned, this made him seem all the more amoral and sociopathic. Some of the vilest serial killers in history had displayed plenty of charm and self-assurance. The last thing she expected was for the killer to seem the least bit guilty.
It was only a short way to the food court. Blackwell escorted Bill and Riley straight to a coffee counter. If the man was nervous about being with two FBI agents, he didn’t show it.
A little girl who was trailing along behind her mother stumbled and fell just in front of them.
“Whoops!” Blackwell cried out cheerfully. He bent over and lifted the child to her feet.
The mother said an automatic thanks, then led her daughter off by the hand. Riley watched Blackwell eye the little girl’s bare legs beneath her short skirt, and she felt sick to her stomach. Her suspicion deepened.
Riley grabbed Blackwell’s arm hard, but he gave her a look of bewilderment and innocence. She shook his arm and let him go.
“Get your coffee,” she said, nodding to nearby the cafe counter.
“I’d like a cappuccino,” Blackwell said to the young woman behind the counter. “These folks are buying.”
Then, turning to Bill and Riley, he asked, “What are you two having?”
“We’re fine,” Riley said.
Bill paid for the cappuccino, and the three of them headed toward a table that didn’t have other people seated nearby.
“Okay, so what do you want to know about me?” Blackwell asked. He seemed relaxed and friendly. “I hope you’re not going to get all judgmental, like the authorities I’m used to. People are so closed-minded these days.”
“Closed-minded about putting dolls in obscene poses?” Bill asked.
Blackwell looked sincerely hurt. “You make it sound so dirty,” he said. “There wasn’t anything obscene about it. Have a look for yourselves.”
Blackwell got out his cell phone and started showing photographs of his handiwork. They included little pornographic tableaus he had created inside of dollhouses. The little human figures were in various states of undress. They had been posed in an imaginative array of groupings and positions in different parts of the houses. Riley’s mind boggled at the variety of sex acts portrayed in the pictures – some of them quite probably illegal in many states.
Looks plenty obscene to me, Riley thought.
“I was being satirical,” Blackwell explained. “I was making an important social statement. We live in such a crass and materialistic culture. Somebody’s got to make this kind of protest. I was exercising my right to free speech in a thoroughly responsible way. I wasn’t abusing it. It’s not like I was yelling ‘fire’ in a crowded theater.”
Riley noticed that Bill was starting to look indignant.
“What about the little kids who stumbled across these little scenes of yours?” Bill asked. “Don’t you think you were harming them?”
“No, as a matter of fact, I don’t,” Blackwell said rather smugly. “They get worse things out of the media every single day. There’s no such thing as childhood innocence anymore. That’s exactly what I was trying to tell the world. It breaks my heart, I tell you.”
He actually sounds like he means it, Riley thought.
But it was obvious to her that he didn’t mean it at all. Ross Blackwell didn’t have a single moral or empathetic bone in his body. Riley suspected his guilt more and more with every passing moment.
She tried to read his face. It wasn’t easy. Like all true sociopaths, he masked his feelings with amazing skill.
“Tell me, Ross,” she said. “Do you like the outdoors? I mean like camping and fishing.”
Blackwell’s face lit up with a broad smile. “Oh, yeah. Ever since I was a kid. I was an Eagle Scout back in the day. I sometimes go off into the wilderness alone for weeks at a time. Sometimes I think I was Daniel Boone in a previous life.”
